Are you going to kill your own son?
by ohcomely23
Summary: My take on what happened after the season 4 finale. SPOILERS. This is possibly a death fiction, a bit of Neal whump, and should I continue, emotional whump for everyone else.
1. Chapter 1

WARNING: Spoilers for the season 4 finale and my creative take on what comes next!

"Don't make me do something I'll regret."

Neal's eyes were wide and innocent and broken.

"Dad-" Neal was desperate now.  
"Show me now. Be a decent human being. Be a good man. Dad—" Neal's heart raced at the thought of Peter, _Peter_, in prison for murder. Peter in handcuffs. His mind was still reeling at the revelation that his own father, his flesh in blood James, had really done it, had really killed a cop.

James took a dangerous step towards Neal.. but Neal was spiraling.

"You _used_ me. You conned your _own_ son to get the evidence box. This was never about me… You destroyed my life when you left thirty years ago, but I'll be _dammed_ if you're going to destroy Peter's life. He's been more of a father to me than you ever had."

James clenched his fist at his side.

Neal's phone went off in his pocket, and he flinched at the distraction, fumbling to silence it-  
and then felt a slug to his jaw.

Neal fell to the ground, his vision graying as he saw James walk towards the door without even glancing back.

Neal found a strength within himself, thinking of Peter, and rose to his feet. He chased after James.  
James had made it to the stairs.

Without thinking, Neal threw his body into his father's, tackling him to the ground. The evidence box was knocked form his hands as it tumbled down the stairs.

James scowled at Neal and shoved him against the wall, his arm pressing against Neal's throat.  
"God dammit, Neal!"

Neal struggled to take a breath.  
"Are you going to kill your own son?"

Neal heard something coming from his pocket-his phone. He must have answered it… which meant that if he could get James to confess to him, whoever was on the phone, probably Diana, would hear, and they might even be able to play back the conversation.. Neal dared to hope.

James was looking at Neal with a raw anger in his eyes.  
"Do the right thing.. Peter claimed…" Neal was growing a bit dizzy, but James was in full on fight or flight mode and didn't seem to be letting up on the pressure. Neal sucked in a shallow breath.  
"Peter claimed you sh-shot Pratt in… self… defense. You can turn yourself in, we can.. we can be a… family…." Neal was slumping against the wall a bit, running out of air.

"Pratt was crooked. I can't go back to prison. They slap those cuffs on me, I'm never getting out."

"Why did…. you…. shoot him….? Y-You crossed a … line."

"Don't be a fool, Neal." James sounded exasperated, and Neal was pretty sure he was fidgeting, but his vision was fading out.

"Clear Peter's name, please. Dad…"

"Dammit Neal! Just stop. I had to shoot him. I needed to end this."

_And that was what Neal had been waiting to hear._

James could see Neal passing out before him and begrudgingly let up on the pressure.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way, son. I just wanted to say goodbye—"

Neal was gasping, trying to catch his breath, and as he sagged, the cell phone was visible in his jacket pocket, the red flashing light of the Blackberry indicating that there was an active call.

"You little bastard…" James gaped, realizing what Neal had done.

He lunged towards Neal, who quickly dodged him.

James was seeing only red. He had to get that phone. He had to get the evidence box. He had to get out of here… and Neal was standing in his way.

James tried to push Neal out of the way, but Neal was blocking him, though he was still gasping for air, greedily filling his lungs.

"Neal, move."

"I can't do that."

"MOVE, Neal."

Neal shook his head. Peter needed him, and he'd be dammed if El was going to lose her husband to prison. Neal was still reeling from the chokehold James had had him in, so he wasn't at his best, cognitively, and thus couldn't seem to form a plan… only to stubbornly obstruct the stairs…

and so as James took one final step, and as Neal struggled to ward him off, James snapped.

He shoved his son hard.

Neal's eyes were wide in horror as he lost his footing, his fingers ghosting his father's, reaching for help… but James didn't reach out to stop Neal's fall. Instead, he looked into Neal's eyes…

Neal fell to the ground with a sickening thud, and the loud _snap_ of his neck could be heard even through the phone, by Diana.

Of course, Diana had put the call on speaker, and Calloway and everyone had heard it.  
Diana, Peter, and Calloway (Calloway refused to let Peter leave her sight) had sped over towards Neal's apartment.

They were still driving as Neal let in a painful gasp, a startled gasp.  
They were still driving as Neal pleaded with his dad to do the right thing.  
They were still driving as James finally lost control…

But they had made it to the door as they watched James push his only son down the stairs… and as Neal's neck had snapped, leaving those brilliant blue eyes staring at the ceiling, seeming to hold the world's sorrows, the world's betrayal, and the shock of death in them…

_

Not sure if this will be a one-shot or if I'll continue with it!


	2. Chapter 2

Calloway was watching in horror, feeling like an outsider, but she was still the ever-professional and efficient FBI agent.

"I've got the evidence box. Secure Bennet." She dictated.

Jones moved mechanically, his breath hitching as he tried to step around Neal. He forced his eyes not to linger on the crumpled heap that was his dear friend.

Calloway was aware of commotion around Neal as she phoned for back-up and a coroner's van, finally joining Jones and escorting James out of the house.

She took a breath and braced herself for the paperwork. Jones had his eyes fixed on James, and James had grown quiet, almost unnervingly so.

Peter's knees had nearly given out as he'd watched Neal thud to the ground...  
Peter had already slid onto the floor, taking up residence next to Neal. He had one of Neal's slender hands in his own—they were still warm.

His own shaking hand had fumbled on Neal's neck for a pulse—he'd found none. Neal was bent at a pretty impossible angle. Neal wasn't breathing.. Peter's tongue was heavy, his throat thick, and he was trembling. No, no, this isn't happening. This isn't happening.

He braced himself to begin chest compression when he felt Diana's hand stop him. She looked at him sadly, unshed tears in her eyes. She shook her head _no_.

Peter looked at her, tried to push her hand away. He needed to save his friend. He needed to fucking do something. He needed to-  
Diana had closed her eyes, sobbing quietly, her hand resting on Neal's chest, above his heart.

"He's dead, Peter. He's dead."

Peter found himself staring down into Neal's blue eyes.

Diana made a motion to close them.

"No-" Peter stopped her.  
He knew that once Diana closed Neal's eyes, he would never see them again.

"I just.. let me look at him.. let me…" Peter's voice was thick, each word ragged in his throat.

Peter and Diana were aware of Jones dragging James down the stairs in cuffs.  
James leaned towards Neal, seeming to want to behold his son, realizing the gravity of the situation, of what he'd done.

"NO," Peter snapped to attention, glowering at James.  
"You don't look at him, don't you fucking _look_ at him. You don't get to look at him, you don't get to.." Peter felt dizzy.

He hadn't realized that he'd scooped Neal's head onto his lap, and now he was rocking him a little bit like a child might with a broken toy. Peter's eyes were haunted, hollow, raw.

Diana hadn't moved from her position, her eyes now open though, looking at James with utter detest and rage. Were it not for Jones and Calloway, she'd have killed him then and there.

Jones let his eyes meet Peter's. _Is he..._

Peter gave a quick nod, his eyes flickering back to Neal's.

Jones and Agent Calloway escorted James out of the house.

Peter blinked back tears. _Oh God._

_Peter's been more of a father to me than you ever have…_ Neal had spoken those words, shouted them, realized the truth of them, as his heart had been shattered by the father he had let into his heart, as he'd been betrayed by James.

"And you've been like a son to me…" Peter whispered, resting his head on Neal's.

He felt a weak breath on his face and abruptly pulled back.

Could it be..?


	3. Chapter 3

This is a very short chapter! It's not as descriptive as my previous ones, but I have an idea in mind for this story, and I need to start setting everything up for it! Hopefully this chapter is alright for now! Should be updating tomorrow.

Peter jerked back, his eyes searching Neal's.

Neal seemed to be looking right at him, his eyes as wide and hurt as ever.

Peter was frozen in place.  
"Neal?"

Neal's eyes began to drift from his face. _He was looking around._ But he wasn't moving.

Peter's clumsy hand felt for a pulse. He found one.  
Diana, meanwhile, was phoning for an ambulance.  
Peter let out a shaky breath as he felt a hot tear escape the corner of his eye.

Neal's breathing was faint, but he wasn't blue. And he was alive.

"Can you sit?"

Neal's eyes widened in alarm.

"Neal?"

His eyes were frantic now, but his breathing was just as quiet as ever.

"Neal, do you know where you are?" Diana piped in. She needed to make herself useful.

Neal's eyes rolled over to her, but he hadn't moved.

_Oh God._ Her stomach churned. She looked over at Peter and saw that he had reached the same conclusion as her.. but it couldn't be.

Both of them flashed to that sickening cracking noise as Neal had fallen, his neck snapping.

Peter's eyes implored the frightened blue ones before him.

"Neal, I want you to blink twice if you understand what is happening, where you are."

There were a few painstaking moments of silence, both Peter and Diana's hearts racing.  
And then there it was, slow and deliberate.  
_Blink.  
Blink._

Both agents huffed.  
"I'm going to go tell Jones and Calloway," she said, ungracefully rising to her feet. She was careful to step around Neal and Peter.

"God, Neal.." Peter murmured.__

Neal began to blink slowly and rapidly, and then he would just wait. It took Peter a moment to realize what Neal was doing—Morse Code.

_FEEL NOTHING.  
CANNOT MOVE.  
_  
His eyes were full of alarm.

Diana opened the door.

"Boss, we have a problem. Jones and Calloway are unconscious, but alright… But- but James is gone."


	4. Chapter 4

The next few hours were excruciating for all members of the White Collar family.

EMS had arrived and had checked Neal's vitals before transferring him to a gurney.

Diana had stayed behind with Jones and Calloway who had come to after a few minutes. Jones had insisted that Neal take the first ambulance, that all attention go to him, and Calloway had nodded her agreement. She seemed more concerned with James having escaped than Neal's apparent paralysis.

Peter could only pray to God or whatever force was out there that Neal would be alright, that this was all temporary, maybe even that this was all a dream.

Neal seemed more aware of his surroundings now and was quicker to react. His neck was locked in a brace, his eyes looking, searching for something.

Peter was out of his line of vision, and Neal couldn't move his body. With each bump in the road, Neal's limp form would rock a little bit, despite the straps holding him in place. Peter's stomach churned.

Neal's body was his own; it never failed him. He controlled his body, used his body as he needed to, and now suddenly it wasn't his own any more. He was panicking, but his body wouldn't even let him grieve or display his panic.

A few tears tricked out of his eyes, but he focused, tried to push them away.

Neal's eyes were burning with intensity, with anger, with confusion, with heartbreak.

_My own fath—no. James. James did this to me. James is __**not**__ my father anymore.  
And this was all for Peter._ His mind was racing with questions.

_Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink._

He couldn't see Peter, but he knew Peter was looking at him.  
So in Morse Code, he began to voice some of the questions his body wouldn't let him.

_ARE  
YOU  
FREE?_

Leave it to Neal to be concerned for him.

"Yeah, buddy. Thanks to you. You got…" He couldn't bring himself to even say that bastard's name. The bastard who had nearly killed Neal.

"You got him to confess over the phone. Calloway heard, Diana heard… Thanks to you."

_PUSHED  
ME._

"I-I know. We saw. God, Neal, I don't—"  
Neal was blinking again. A smile ghosted Peter's features. Even unable to move, Neal was still interrupting.

_SORRY  
YOU  
HAD  
TO  
SEE  
THAT._

Peter saw a tear roll down Neal's face. Instinctively, he reached to brush it away. The paramedics shot him a look but didn't stop him.

Peter had so many emotions threatening to pour out of his mouth, words he needed to tell Neal. Neal needed to know how much he meant to Peter. How much he loved the kid. Peter felt sick.

Neal was the essence of life, of movement. He was always fidgeting, always doing something... and now he was so still. But this couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.

Neal was overwhelmed with sudden exhaustion, his mind sluggishly meeting up with his numb body. He slipped away, his eyes rolling before closing.

Peter's heart caught in his chest. He opened his mouth to protest when he felt a hand on his arm.  
_Neal?_

A young paramedic, the one who'd been taking Neal's vitals, quickly removed her hand.  
"He's alive. He's just… been through a lot of trauma. Let him rest. He's still with us."

Peter nodded, clutching onto Neal's clammy and restless hand.

Neal was carted down a hallway, Peter being stopped at the swinging doors. He would have to wait here.

Elizabeth and Peter's hands were intertwined. Elizabeth had clung tightly to Peter, her eyes haunted. Peter had been arrested—she hadn't learned of that until after they'd arrived at the hospital—and Neal had gotten James to confess. Were it not for Neal, Peter would have ended up in prison, and with his FBI status… he wouldn't have lasted long.

Jones and Calloway had been briefly checked out and were medically cleared to return home, so long as they took it easy.

Diana had driven Jones home, insisting that he rest. Calloway had muttered something about DC and had vanished. In light of the recent events, it had become clear that she had been in Pratt's pocket, and a lot of red flags had gone up since his murder.

Peter had no doubt that Diana and Jones would be in touch soon. He knew that Diana hated this, but Diana would probably channel her frustration into tracking James down. Peter had promised to phone as soon as he got an update on Neal. Other than that, there was no contact. Diana and Peter will still horrified by what they had witnessed—they'd witnessed Neal's heartbreaking realization that he was a prisoner of his body.

A doctor emerged, interrupting Peter from his thoughts.

"Agent Burke?"  
Peter had Neal's power of attorney and was thus granted medical information. Elizabeth would have to wait, much as it killed her.

"Hon, I'll—"  
Elizabeth stopped him with a quick nod. _Go._

Peter nodded and sprung to his feet. The doctor, a wise-looking man with short grey hair and dry skin, guided Peter behind the waiting room doors.

The doctor sighed.

"When Mr. Caffrey fell down the stairs—" the doctor paused, seeming nervous.  
_Pushed, he was pushed._  
"He fractured a disc in his neck, pinching the nerves and restricting blood flow to the rest of his body… which is what resulted in the paralysis."

"Is it permanent?"

"More than likely, yes.. The fracture was high up on his neck, which results in full body paralysis. He's in for X-RAY right now. We'll know more then.. but you need to prepare yourself for the very likely reality that your friend's life will change in a very drastic way today.."

Peter felt dizzy. Neal was alive, thank god, but what kind of life would he have? To never paint again, god, to never _move_ again. Peter felt like this was all a twisted nightmare.

He had stepped out and gathered El, and the two of them were waiting anxiously in Neal's hospital room.  
_Neal's hospital room._

Neal's unconscious form was carted in. El looked at him, her clutch on Peter tightening, her nails digging into his arm. She gasped.

The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes, just looking at the limp conman in front of them. Were it not for the heart monitor's steady beeps, they would have sworn he was.. _no, not going to think this way. _

The older doctor from before stepped inside, a file in his hands.  
"Agent Burke?"

El grudgingly took her cue and excused herself to go and get some coffee.. though the only place she wanted to be was by Neal's side. She squeezed Peter's arm as she stood, letting the door close behind her.

"We've got the results of the X-RAYs back. Now, I don't want to get your hopes up, but there may be a chance for him to regain some mobility."

Peter visibly lifted. The doctor continued.

"The pinched nerve is what is causing his paralysis, for the most part.. and it would seem that the fractured disc isn't completely severed. The disc was indeed fractured, but rather tan severing his spinal cord, it's pressing down on the nerves. There may be hope if we can remove the disc in surgery and if there isn't significant damage to the nerves beneath it. It's impossible to tell until we perform the surgery, but if we can remove the fractured bone from the disc and repair the disc... his body may heal."

_Yes. There is hope._ Peter felt hope for the very first time since this predicament began.

"What are we waiting for? Can we-"

"There's a risk with the surgery, Agent Burke. As I said before, there's no way to appropriately gauge the damage until we're in surgery. If we go to alleviate the pressure on his spine and it's worse than we thought… we may sever the connection completely, and he may lapse in to a coma. He could become comatose… brain dead."


	5. Chapter 5

Peter had hoped for Neal to wake up, for Neal to make the decision for him. He knew what Neal would choose; he'd choose a chance at walking, at being _Neal_.

"Does Mr. Caffrey have any family, a living will, anyone to make this decision for him?" A faceless doctor had inquired.

_James Bennett. _"No, no family. But I have his paperwork—I'm his handler at the FBI." The FBI encouraged other agents to sign over medical power to members in the field, lest something catastrophic or dangerous happen that needed immediate response.

Calloway had faxed over the paperwork to the hospital but, aside from that, had yet to show her face. The paperwork showed that, legally, Peter could make the decision.

In his cowardice, Peter delayed making the decision. How could such a decision be made lightly, especially when it could result in Neal's death?

"_You know what he would want, Hon." El had comforted him.  
_The past-tense use of the consultant's name was wearing on him already.  
_The longer you wait, the less likely the surgery will be a success._  
Could Neal forgive him if his indecisiveness cost Neal his movement?

Mozzie had gone underground and was nowhere to be found; did he know about Neal? He must have. But where was he? Mozzie would be able to help. Peter was pretty sure he knew what Mozzie would do, but until then…

On Neal's second day, still comatose, Peter cowboyed up and made a decision.  
_Go ahead, do whatever it takes… do the surgery. _

That had been fourteen hours ago. He waited dutifully by Neal's side, practically _daring_ James to show up. James probably thought Neal was dead. _Let him think that, _Peter thought spitefully.

Elizabeth, June, Diana, and Jones had filtered by, bringing coffee and checking for updates.

Hours, though they felt like weeks, drove sluggishly by as the pale consultant was finally wheeled into recovery. He'd pulled through the surgery, and Peter could breath for the first time in a while.

But would it be a success? The doctors were cautiously optimistic; Neal was young and strong. But with something as tricky as the spinal cord and with the amount of time Neal had been unconscious, it was difficult to tell what the long-lasting effects would be. Would he regain partial movement? Full movement? Would he walk? Or would he be confined to a hospital bed for the rest of his life? The nightmare realities stole Peter's breath oncemore.

No one could give Peter an answer, and so the torturous wait continued.

A few times, as Peter had been fighting sleep, he'd feel a breeze of air, a chill of sorts, on the back of his neck. He'd jerk to attention, expecting to see Neal tossing his fedora. Of course, that wasn't real.

In his dreams, he relived the phone call, the car ride to Neal's apartment, the moment when he heard Neal fall.

Sometimes, Neal would stand up and laugh—"_Just kidding!" he would chuckle. _It had all been a con.

Sometimes, and this was more common, Neal wouldn't open his eyes at all. The coroners would bag his body and wheel him away, and it was Peter who was paralyzed.

One particularly cruel dream found Elizabeth screaming, her voice raw, as James would taunt Peter. "He's not your son," he would say to Elizabeth, and Elizabeth would lurk forward, trying to pull James off of Neal. And again, Peter was the one who could not move.

In the midst of one of these dreams, Peter jerked awake. He clumsily rose, stretching his stiff joints, and made a trip to the bathroom to splash water on his face.

James Bennett watched as Agent Burke _finally_ left the room. He found himself walking past security and down the hallway, until he was face to face with his unconscious son. _I may have failed him, but I won't do it again._

"I'm so sorry, my boy." He whispered, stroking Neal's cheek. "But I'm going to make this better."  
He began unhooking the wires that held Neal prisoner. "I'm going to make this better."


	6. Chapter 6

_James Bennett watched as Agent Burke finally left the room. He found himself walking past security and down the hallway, until he was face to face with his unconscious son. I may have failed him, but I won't do it again._

_"I'm so sorry, my boy." He whispered, stroking Neal's cheek. "But I'm going to make this better."  
He began unhooking the wires that held Neal prisoner. "I'm going to make this better."_

_

"Get away from him." Peter's voice was low and dangerous.

James involuntarily startled, looking up at Agent Peter Burke, their eyes meeting.

James's eyes were _nothing _like Neal's.

James was dressed in scrubs, a perfect disguise for the hospital.

"I said **GET away from him**!" Peter clenched his fist by his side and was pulling James away from Neal, Neal whose eyelids were fluttering. Neal, whose lips were tinged blue now.

"He can't breathe- the wires, the tubes, you pulled out, you—"  
Fury and worry knotted Peter's stomach. As much as he needed to beat James into a god damned bloody pulp, he needed to help Neal. He reached for the nurse's call button and-

"No! Get away from that. Get away from him." Peter looked up at the gun that James was waving in his face.

"James, he needs a nurse. He can't breathe on his own yet—he just got out of _surgery_."  
Peter was trying to remain calm, to negotiate. But his only bargaining chip was Neal, and James had nearly killed Neal earlier that day. Did he still care for his son? Did he _ever _care?  
_  
James scowled at Neal and shoved him against the wall, his arm pressing against Neal's throat.  
"God dammit, Neal!"_

_Neal struggled to take a breath.  
"Are you going to kill your own son?"_

James shook his head.

"I said get away from him," James spat at Peter.

Peter looked at James and shook his head.

"We both know I can't do that, James."  
_  
_He shoved Peter hard, and Peter tumbled backwards against the wall.

"I didn't mean it, any of it. I didn't mean to hurt him. I just, I just.." James was interrupted by a violet gasp from Neal. His eyelids were fluttering.

Peter unsteadily rose to his feet.

James glared at him, raw anger in his eyes. "This is _your _fault. He isn't even your son. He's not yours. He's not."

_"Show me now. Be a decent human being. Be a good man. Dad—" Neal's heart raced at the thought of Peter, Peter, in prison for murder. Peter in handcuffs. His mind was still reeling at the revelation that his own father, his flesh in blood James, had really done it, had really killed a cop._

_James took a dangerous step towards Neal.. but Neal was spiraling._

_"You used me. You conned your own son to get the evidence box. This was never about me… You destroyed my life when you left thirty years ago, but I'll be dammed if you're going to destroy Peter's life. He's been more of a father to me than you ever had."_

James clenched his fist at his side.

"**I'm **his father. I'm his father. Not you." James was losing it. He lifted his gun and fired a quick round at Peter, aiming for his abdomen.

Peter slumped to the floor, clutching at his wound.

James turned his back and began fumbling with the tubes once more.

Before Peter lost consciousness, he watched the blurry figure of James Bennett carting Neal out of the hospital room.


	7. Chapter 7

_This chapter is somewhat dark. Triggers for depression. There will be two-three chapters after this one.  
__

Peter looked at his reflection in the mirror. To all others, his face would have appeared void of all expression, void of emotion. There was a raw anger thumping inside, pulsing through his veins. His eyes were cold.

_Four months._

Four months since he'd been shot in the hospital. Four months since that bastard Bennett had waltzed in, waltzed past security, taken Neal. Was Neal paralyzed? Was he even ali- he ended the thought.

There'd been a lawsuit against the hospital. How could a man get past security like that, enough to _take_ an injured patient? The legal issues were a jumbled mess, and the case had yet to go to trial. It had made the local papers, the local news. The name of the lost man had been omitted- _Neal Caffrey_- but James Bennett's had not. His face was plastered around FBI headquarters. He had been on the news as a wanted fugitive for the first two weeks.

And then the world moved on and forgot about Bennett… forgot about _Neal._

Peter had been shot in his side, right below his right shoulder. He'd lost 30% of his prior range of motion. He was still going to physical therapy.

Elizabeth had been a mess when it had happened. She'd been all tears and brokenness and clinginess. She'd held tight to Peter each night as if she was afraid he'd vanish in the night, as if he would disappear in her very arms.

And maybe he would.

Because the world had forgotten about Neal Caffrey ,and Peter sure as hell couldn't exist in that kind of a world.

The little man, Mozzie, had visited Peter in the hospital once. He couldn't recall all of what had been said—he'd been coming out of surgery—but other than that, nothing. Peter didn't doubt that Mozzie was looking into things on his end of things, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't.

Peter had been forcibly removed from the case after he'd been released from the hospital. Hughes was reinstated, and the incident with Pratt and Calloway had been neatly swept under the rug, all prior positions reinstated. But Peter was too close to this case.

After the first month, he'd snapped at Hughes about nobody taking it fucking seriously, nobody remembering Caffrey. He'd lost his temper. His outburst earned him a week of unpaid leave.

The second month brought him isolation from his wife, his loving and beautiful wife. God, he loved her. But he had so much anger in him, so much frustration. And he didn't want her to see any of that. She was too good for that, to be subjected to that side of him.

And so when she asked about his day, he gave simple answers. When she asked what was on his mind, he gave simple answers, sweet nothings.

Eventually, she stopped asking.

One night, he caught Elizabeth crying in the bathroom. She was holding Neal's pocket square in one hand, moreover clutching it to her chest. Her eyes held such a sadness to them.

_"Some of us are still here, Peter," she'd said._

The third month and he was going through the motions. His nights were spent looking into leads, more often than not, false leads.

Once every other week, he would put phone calls out to morgues for anyone fitting Caffrey's description. It never got easier.

On the fourth month, Elizabeth told Peter that she was going to spend some time with her sister upstate. She'd looked at him sadly.

"I'm still here, Peter. I love you… I just… ."

She'd returned after a numb week. She unpacked her suitcase, and they resumed their skeletal existence.


End file.
